Pay It Forward
by Green Little People
Summary: A roundrobin fic written by several authors at this site to honor the greatness that is the TMNT’s, not to mention the closeness of the people in the fandom. Work in progress. Won First Place for Best Casey Scene in the 2005 TMNT Fanfiction Competition.
1. Uno

**Disclaimer: **We don't own the ninja turtles, just some harmless borrowing to write a little fan fiction.

**A/N:**_ This summer a 'Pay It Forward' fic was started. So far, it hasn't traveled that far, but we thought we'd start putting up the few chapters we have, to see how you guys feel about it. Being so many authors participating in this, we decided to post it under a shared account. Also, the title may change later on. Enjoy and don't forget to review. Thank you._

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**PAY IT FORWARD**

**a TMNT round-robin**

by

Green Little People

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**Chapter 1 written by _Mickis_ and _Sassyblondexoxo_. Go read their stories.**

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**UNO**

**Mickis:**

**(Raphael's POV)**

A ringing noise in the distance forced me back to consciousness. Slowly, I opened my heavy eyelids and fumbled for my cell phone. I managed to grab it and flap it open without even having to lift my throbbing head from the pillow, and while longingly shutting my eyes and rubbing my beak, I put the phone to my ear and listened to the voice that erupted from the other end.

"Where the hell have you been? I've been calling you for hours!"

_Leo_, I realized with a heavy thought.

"I was sleepin'..." I managed to answer, my tired voice raspy and gruff, not to mention pissed off.

"It's 3 o' clock in the afternoon, Raph. Were you _ever _planning on getting up?"

A low growl took form in the pit of my throat and I continuously rubbed my swollen eyes, trying to process the information I'd just been given.

"Raph?" he questioned alarmingly. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here, a'right? Jeez, don't get yer panties in a twist, Leo."

"You should be glad I agreed to cover for you last night, but if you're not back home in thirty minutes, I'll personally write Sensei an essay about your drinking habits."

"A'right, already. Give a guy a chance ta open his eyes."

"Thirty minutes, Raph. That's it."

The angry voice on the other end was replaced with a peaceful silence, one that left me to discover my expected headache. I grumpily brought the phone to my face and read text on the bright display.

(12 missed calls)

Not to my surprise, they were all listed from 'High and Mighty cell,' which is what I'd named my oldest brother in my phonebook. I also discovered I had a new text message and tiredly pushed the buttons I needed in order to open it.

(From Pinhead cell  
Friday 11:42 pm  
12-2-05  
Hey, bro! Drunk off your ass yet? LOL Anyway, on your way back home, pick up a curling iron, will ya? I'll explain later, and don't worry; I'll pay ya back once you show. Later/ Mike the Man)

_The hell does he need a curling iron for?_ I thought to myself, trying to remember whether I'd used up all my money for booze. Realizing I had no idea, I flapped the phone shut and dropped it on the nightstand on my left. When rolling over on my shell - my left hand placed behind my head – I realized I wasn't as alone as I'd hoped. Resting on top of the black college sweater I wore for disguise was a hairy arm. I traced the limb back to its owner and realized to my disgusted horror that I was sharing a bed with a none other than Casey. His motionless face was turned to me, mouth open like a drunken hobo and while most of his face was buried in the pillow, the stench of his breath had no problem to reach my nostrils, which I swear to god were trying to shrink for the purpose of self-preservation.

When slapping his arm off of me as is it was a fat, dead rabbit, the idiot began to moan in protest.

"Baby, c'mon," he said, his clingy arm finding its way back to my plastron. "Don't do me like that."

"Casey, get offa' me!" I exclaimed, reaching over to hit the guy across his unfortunately unclothed chest.

Startled, the drunk shot up from his pillow and observed his surroundings with the unmasked confusion of a newborn. Once realizing the person next to him wasn't the woman he'd hoped, or even the specie he preferred, his unshaved face twisted in brainless shock.

"Raph?" he questioned, as if he had trouble connecting my face to the name.

"Yeah," I snapped in confirmation, "so juz keep yer monkey hands ta yerself, a'right?" I clumsily kicked the sweaty covers off of me, only getting myself further entangled in his smelly sheets.

"Easy, man," he chuckled, reaching over and stealing the covers to wrap them around himself. "I hate to break it to ya, but yer not really my type, y'know?"

"I'm truly heartbroken," I mumbled, sliding my legs off the bed. With my shell turned to Casey and my headache dancing the night away in my brain, I realized I was still wearing my jeans from last night.

_Damn, musta' been pretty wasted to pass out with my clothes on._

I painfully rose to my feet and stared at the corner that was the kitchen area, which wasn't that far away from the bedroom area. Things were pretty crowded in Casey's apartment; living room, bedroom and kitchen were all one and the same. His place consisted of an uncomfortable bed, a kitchen counter with two barstools to sit on, a fridge/freezer, a kitchen sink and a beat up television in one of the four corners. Luckily, the bathroom was blessed with a door of its own, but unfortunately, the lock didn't work. I guess old Case couldn't afford such luxury.

I reached for my cell phone on the bedside table and dropped it down one of the bottomless pockets of my baggy jeans. Realizing I was thirsty enough to almost drink my own pee, I set off in the direction of the kitchen. Not looking where I put my feet, I managed to trip over something on the floor and ungracefully hit the ground with a loud thud.

"Dammit!" I cursed, lying flat on my stomach in the middle of Casey's messy apartment, my headache setting off fireworks in my head.

The simple act of me falling on my beak was enough to make Case laugh his hungovered ass off. Naturally, I didn't find the situation as funny as he did and rolled over on my side to force myself up with my right arm supporting my weight. Lying by my feet were my worn, black leather boots, which I'd drunkenly kicked off the night before, unaware of them turning against me the morning after. Meanwhile, Casey was still laughing like a four year-old on a sugar rush, and it was seriously starting to bug me.

"Shut up!" I hissed, tossing one of the boots at him.

He easily deflected it with his hairy arm and looked at me where I sat on the floor, basking in my misfortune. "Ninja stealth, my ass," he grinned, tossing the boot back at me.

Frowning in response, I waveringly rose to my feet and continued on my journey to the refrigerator. Once reaching the object in question, I curled my fingers around its cold handle and pulled the door open. The inside was surprisingly empty, even for Casey. Standing on the top shelf was half a six-pack of beers, which I would've thrown myself over at any other point in time of my life. Now, however, I wasn't as crazy about the concept of beer. The taste sickened me, the smell disgusted me and the memory had me twisting in my shell like a worm on a hook.

"Yo, Case?" I called to my friend who was still suffering from the aftereffects of last night.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, a messy head of brown hair looking up from the sea of light blue sheets.

"Got anythin' besides beer?" I asked, glancing at him over the open refrigerator door, my hand still clasped around the handle.

"Tap water," he replied simply, once again burying his face in his pillow.

"Right," I mumbled to myself, considering my two options before I swung the door shut. Stepping over to the tap, I found what looked like a plate of fuzzy leftovers in the sink, half filled with reeking water. He was really taking this bachelor pad thing a bit too far, if you asked me - and I'm not exactly the Queen of England. Deciding to risk it, I bent closer to the sink and turned on the tap, waiting for the water to turn my kind of cold. Once the temperature was freezing enough, I closed my mouth over the tap and drank as though I had spent days walking through the desert. Which was half true, I guess. If by 'desert' you meant 'late night bars' and 'days' being another word for 'hours.'

After filling my stomach with water that had a tad too much trace of iron for my taste, I splashed my sweaty face with it and turned it off. Turning around to check on Casey, I found the guy sprawled across the bed, strangling one of his pillows with the death grip of his arms. Remembering Mike's message about needing that stupid curling iron, which still after a few minutes awake didn't make any more sense, I dully reached inside my pockets for any leftover money. As predicted, the only thing I could find was some useless coins, which just wasn't going to cut it.

"Hey, Casey!" I yelled across the room.

"Mmph..." the muffled reply came.

"Got any money I can borra'?" I leaned across the kitchen counter with my lower arms planted on the filthy surface, drenching my sweater in something that smelled like spilled beer. If it wasn't for the fact that I already felt and smelled like shit, I probably would've cared, or at least reacted.

"What for?"

"I need ta pick up one a' those curling irons on my way home."

After seconds of no response, Casey lifted his head from the pillow, a stupefied look on his face. "You need to _what_?"

"I dunno," I shrugged. "Mikey asked me ta."

"Whatever," he moaned, once again burying his face in the pillow. "Check the piggy bank."

"You got a _piggy_ bank?" I asked, for a moment wondering if I'd heard him right.

**Sassyblondexoxo:**

An angry face looked up from the bed. "Hey! You want the money or not?" he questioned, leaving me hardly any room for sarcastic remarks. I threw my hands up in mock defeat, and he pointed to a dresser in the corner. Shiny and nearly new, the pink pig sat giving me a lopsided smile.

Aw, how cute. Had to be a present from April… either that or my best friend was getting a little fruity around the edges.

Casey stuffed his head back under his pillow, groaning as I clambered noisily across the room. Sunlight streamed through the partially open draperies, painting a warm stripe across his bare forearm. He obviously wasn't wearing a shirt, and it dawned on me that he probably wasn't wearing any pants either. I cringed at the thought. I'd learned a few months ago that Casey liked to sleep in his underwear – it had been another drunk night almost identical to this one. Except that time we didn't make it to the bed. Barely able to climb up the stairs, the two of us had stumbled through the door in fit of laughter, rolled around awhile, and finally passed out in the middle of the floor. But not before my buddy had stripped himself down to his skivvies, a pair of too-tight boxers with little kangaroos on them. I remember them vividly; mostly because I'd woken up with my face only inches from his sweaty backside.

It was that moment that I'd vowed never to drink again.

Heh, that vow lasted all of about two days.

Trying not to think about the fact that I'd just slept in the same bed with a naked guy, I focused my attention back to the task at hand. Miss Piggy. I picked up the ceramic pig, giving her a little shake. Jackpot. Lucky for me, the pudgy pig was nearly full. I flipped her over, struggled a few moments to pull the plastic plug from her stomach, then let the change spill out across the dresser. There were a few dollar bills mixed in with the coins; I grabbed those first, then picked out nearly every quarter in the pile. I wasn't quite sure how much money I actually had. Who the hell knows how much one of those things cost? Not me. All I knew was that my pockets were full, and it was making my head pound to sort through all that change.

"I'm gone," I said to a still buried Casey. "I'll pay you back later." He mumbled something in return, giving a jerk of his hand that resembled something of a wave.


	2. Dos

**Disclaimer:** We don't own the ninja turtles, just some harmless borrowing to write a little fan fiction. Be aware of some naughty words.

**A/N: **_Thanks for the great response to the first chapter everyone! It sounds like there is a brewing interest from a lot of people to write for this fic, so we might have a long one folks. I'm sure that it will make it around eventually to everyone that wants to!_

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Chapter 2 written by Sassyblondexoxo and Dierdre. Go read their stories. **

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**DOS**

**Sassyblondexoxo:**

**(Casey's POV)**

_Kayla Schultz was beautiful. No, not just beautiful – an absolute knockout. She was standing at the end bar, half smiling at me, absently clicking her long fingernails against the empty glass sitting in front of her. As the bartender came to hand me my change, I shook my head, telling him to keep it for the lady's next drink. He nodded, giving me a wink._

_God I wanted her. At least for one night. I mean, how did I know that she wasn't an absolute bitch? I'd never talked to her. I'd seen her here three weekends in a row, bought her a drink each time, and still didn't have the balls to talk to her. Why? Even I wasn't sure. I'd never had trouble talking to women before…or taking them home. But there was something different about Kayla. For some reason, she had me petrified._

"_How's it goin' over here?" Raph nudged me in the side with his elbow, nearly sending me sprawling. I gave him a nasty look, then brought my beer bottle back to my lips, savoring the first sips from the cold bottle._

"_It's goin'." _

"_Talk to her yet?" He flicked his head toward Kayla, still at the bar. She was being handed a brand new glass of red wine._

"_Nuh uh. But I'm gonna, soon as I finish this one," I replied, nodding at my beer._

_Raph chuckled slightly, pulling his head down lower into his shirt collar. "You better start drinking faster."_

_Shit. She was coming toward us._

_Dressed in nothing but a tight red dress and high heels, I was mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she walked. She wasn't wearing any jewelry; she didn't need too. Thick blonde hair hanging nearly to her waist was the only adornment that she needed. Blue eyes, fine bones…achingly beautiful. I felt my mind start to spin. Red dress…slim, tall in her heels…blonde hair, red dress…_

_Smiling…moist, glistening lips…_

_Red dress…_

And then she was gone. I was left staring at the ceiling, still hungover, laying face up in my bed.

Damn. Just a dream. A partially true account of last night's events, but a dream none the less. I shut my eyes again, trying to bring back the picture of her to my mind. Kayla _had_ been at the bar, and I _had_ bought her a drink…but she'd never talked to me. Nope, the stuck-up girl had taken her wine glass, hardly even looked at me, and then joined her girlfriends back at their table in the corner. I didn't see her the rest of the night. I was doomed to spend the next few hours in the company of Raph and a few of the other guys playing pool, slowly drinking myself into a stupor.

Oh well. There was always next Friday.

The alarm clock sitting beside the bed was blinking red light into the corner. I turned my head, wiping the gunk from my eyes so that I could see the numbers. 9:48. Jeez, I'd slept the entire day away. And I still felt like crap.

Gathering myself up to a sitting position, I paused for several minutes, scratching at my greasy hair and trying to get my bearings. Food. I was starving. Caffeine. There had to be some coffee around here somewhere.

Mustering strength, I climbed my way to the kitchen. As soon as I stepped on to the linoleum, something sharp pierced into my big toe, causing me to wince and yell out a short string of obscenities.

"What the…" A piece of mummified pizza crust had cut into the flesh of my foot. It was so hard, it had to have being lying around for at least a few weeks. Man, when was the last time I'd cleaned? I couldn't even remember.

I tossed the offending crust into the sink, then grabbed the coffee pot out of the nearest cupboard. I filled it with water before opening the freezer.

Of course, the coffee can was empty.

"Crap," I muttered, slamming the freezer door shut and rummaging around in a drawer, relaxing when I found a small bag of instant coffee with enough granules for one good cup. Unwilling to wait for the water to boil, I dumped the powder into a mug, filled it to the brim with hot water, and took a huge swig. It wasn't good. It was barely even mixed. But it had caffeine and just enough taste to settle my nerves and my churning stomach.

Next was the bathroom. My bladder was screaming for release. I sipped the coffee while I walked, continuing to drink even as I stood in front of the toilet. Though the door was mostly closed, the sound of teenagers yelling on the street outside my apartment still tickled my ears. Yep, the Saturday night crowd was just beginning to come out. For once, I didn't feel like joining them. I was ready to kick back on the couch, order in some take-out, and piss away the next few hours watching TV.

I thought about taking a shower. Quickly realizing that I didn't have anyone to impress, I decided instead to just wash my face and pull my hair back into a messy ponytail. Draining the rest of the coffee, I left the mug on the counter, then pulled open the door to leave the bathroom.

I barely made it a step. Sucking in a sharp breath, I felt the sensation of cold steel on the side of my temple. Its touch whisper light, but dangerous enough to make my blood run cold. _What the…_

I could see three men in my peripheral vision – they each wore black from head to toe, ski masks covering their faces, brandishing automatic weapons across their shoulders. They held a relaxed posture. Obviously they felt no threat from me with a gun to my temple. My head shifted slightly, trying to get a better look at the attacker standing beside me, but as I did so, he grabbed my arm roughly and dug the weapon into my flesh.

His voice was low. Menacing. He meant business.

"I'm only going to ask you once. Where is he?"

**Dierdre:**

"…Huh?"

Okay, so it wasn't the most brilliant response, but give me a break here. I was feeling a little unbalanced. The hangover gnomes were busily mining a tunnel through my aching skull, my tongue felt furry despite the coffee, and now some goon was waving a gun at me and spouting gibberish. Not a good way to start the day.

He prodded my temple with the muzzle of his weapon, hard enough to make me wince. "Don't be cute with me, Mr. Jones. You haven't got the legs for it."

Either my captor had a sense of humor, or he was coming on to me. Guess which one I was hoping for.

"Look, man," I said, in my best 'talking to crazy people' voice, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Who's _he_?"

I must have sounded convincingly confused, because the three men at the edges of my sight exchanged glances with one another. One tightened his grip on the stock of his weapon and rocked back slightly on his heels. An unconscious, nervous gesture.

Only the comedian at my back seemed unfazed. "You and that squat friend of yours have spent the last three Fridays at The Deadline. The same bar, coincidentally enough, that Ms. Shultz also frequented. My sources say you bought her a drink on each occasion, and I can only assume information was also exchanged."

Another prod against the side of my head, quick and brutal. In the increasingly unlikely chance I lived to see tomorrow, I was going to have one hell of a bruise. "Just what did she tell you, Mr. Jones?"

This 'Mister' thing was really starting to piss me off, but when I spoke next I was careful to keep my voice mild. Rule 101 of urban survival; no matter how annoyed you get, never raise your voice around gun-wielding sociopaths.

"The only reason I bought her drinks was 'cause I liked the way her tits bounced when she walked. I wasn't 'exchanging information', or any of that James Bond shit. I didn't even talk to her. I was just trying to get _laid_."

"Ms. Shultz was the key to finding the one we're looking for, but since she has inconveniently disappeared, we're now left with just you. If you'll level with us, then we'll consider letting you live a while longer. Call it a reward for services rendered." The comedian's voice hardened further, changing to a timbre that was as cold and inflexible as steel. "But if you insist on pretending at ignorance…"

He let the sentence trail off, but the threat still hung heavy in the air, no less potent for not having been spoken. Unless I fessed up, this bastard had no qualms about letting daylight into my skull. And since I didn't know jack about any missing people... it was about to get a whole lot messier in here.

On the bright side, at least then I wouldn't have to clean.

I slowly raised my hands until they were even with my collarbones, an apparently submissive gesture that brought my hands closer to the gun. I didn't see a way out of this, short of divine intervention or a timely earthquake, but I was determined to be ready. Just in case.

"I told you the truth, but that doesn't mean you gotta kill me. I've got connections all around New York. I can help you, man. Make… inquiries and stuff. If you just give me some time I can find Kayla and that other guy for you."

It was all complete bull, of course. I didn't know anyone, aside from April and the guys, and my skills leaned more towards skull-bashing than espionage. I was just stalling for time.

Apparently the nervous guy thought so too, because he made an impatient sound and said, "He doesn't know anything, boss. Let's just pop him now and get outta here. We don't have much time left."

The rest of the peanut gallery didn't speak, but simply inclined their heads in silent agreement. Although these two seemed more self-contained, they still exuded a quiet aura of impatience and perpetual anxiety. One surreptitiously wrung his free hand at his side, as if his palms were sweating beneath the gloves.

These guys were frightened and jittery as hell. But why?

I guess I would never know, because Boss Man sighed lowly. His breath tickled the back of my neck, a brief rush of warmth against my chilled skin. "I'm afraid my compatriot is right. We still have much to do before the sun rises."

These enigmatic words were punctuated by the quiet 'snick' of a hammer being cocked. The gesture was unnecessary with most modern pistols, yet still effective at inspiring terror. I glared at the trio beside me and defiantly stiffened my spine, but my mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara and it felt like my heart had stopped beating.

Shot execution-style in my underwear. I really, _really_ didn't want to die like this.

"Goodbye, Mr. Jones."

"It's _Casey_, you fuck."

Boss Man paused as if startled, and then threw back his head and laughed.


	3. Tres

**Disclaimer:** We don't own the ninja turtles, just some harmless borrowing to write a little fan fiction.

**A/N: **_Thank you all for your fantastic reviews for the previous chapter, minasan! It really makes our day to hear what everyone thinks about this fic, and we're all excited to see just where it leads. Considering the vast number of talented TMNT writers in this site, the possibilities are virtually endless! _

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Chapter 3 written by Dierdre and Melodist. Go read their stories. ****

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TRES

**Dierdre:**

**(Raphael, a few hours earlier)**

I had barely stepped into the convenience store before my cell phone vibrated, announcing the arrival of yet another text message.

Cursing under my breath, I quickly strode passed the front counter. I automatically tucked my chin against my plastron, cloaking my hooded face in deep shadow, and ducked into the relative privacy of the canned goods isle.

I needn't have bothered, though. The only human in the store at the moment was the clerk, who was absently flipping through a magazine, chewing mechanically on a wad of bubblegum and oblivious to everything in his boredom. Rue Paul could've sashayed right by him in a spandex nightie, and he'd probably just yawn and continue blowing big, pink bubbles. Not much of a threat to my continued anonymity.

Sheltered by tall isles of preserved fruit and vegetables, I relaxed a little, straightening my spine and extracting my phone from its deep pocket. I flipped it open and began pushing buttons, suppressing a startled curse as a fat cockroach skittered past my boot. Damn bugs.

This place had started out as a nice neighborhood grocery, but had declined steadily over the years as the families left and the gangs moved in. It was rumored that the owner bought protection from one of the more powerful gang leaders, which was as good an explanation as any for why his store remained in business and relatively unmolested. He apparently didn't have much left to spend on maintenance, however, for the florescent lights occasionally flickered with age and the building had an abandoned feel. Kind of sad for the owner, but it worked well for those of us who needed to shop without being surrounded by a dangerous number of people.

It took an annoyingly long time to access the message, but when I finally did I wished I hadn't bothered, for it only served as further proof of my brother's insanity.

(From

Pinhead cell

Saturday 3:54 pm

12-3-05

And buy some ribbon! Yellow, if possible, and lots of it. / Mike the Man)

…Yellow ribbon. Sure, whatever.

Confusion was a perpetual state of being when one lived with Mikey, so I simply muttered darkly and closed my phone. Walking two isles over with my hands shoved into my pockets, I stopped in my tracks and stared at row after row of various hair-care products, eerily illuminated by the wavering overhead lights. Shampoos and conditioners, hair-removers and hair-restorers, a whole rainbow of different dyes, blow dryers and things I didn't even have a name for… and ah, yes, curling irons. About five different kinds of them, some with weird spiny rollers that looked disconcertingly like implements of torture.

I read the back label on a bottle of Herbal Essence shampoo, feeling way out of my depth and deeply grateful that I wasn't born a mammal. No wonder humans were always going nuts and killing each other; pouring all these tongue-twisting chemicals on top of your head had to do funny things to the brain.

Replacing the bottle gingerly, I selected the cheapest curling iron available and went on the hunt for ribbon. I found a packet a few minutes later, crammed into a basket of brightly colored squiggly things called Scrunchies. The bag was crumpled, the ribbon inside was creased and the wrong color, but I wasn't going to look anymore. Mikey would just have to deal with pink.

I straightened and glared down at the items, feeling like an absolute idiot. If Leo saw me carrying this stuff, I just knew he'd never let me live it down. I'd have to move to another state to get away from him, maybe even another country. I hear Canada's nice this time of year…

Feeling the need for an explanation before I had to make travel plans, I balanced the items in one hand, fished out my cell phone and laboriously typed in a text message: (What the hell do you need this stuff for, anyway?)

A response came almost immediately.

(From

Pinhead cell

Saturday 4:07 pm

12-3-05

LOL For the poodle, of course! Later. / Mike the Man)

I blinked, read the message twice, and still didn't believe it. Shaking my head in defeat, I allowed the shadows to once again settle over my features and walked slowly to the counter. The clerk had stopped reading and was now staring vacuously at the ceiling, apparently having mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open.

I rapped on the counter to get the guy's attention, set down the curling iron and ribbon, and rifled through my pockets for Casey's money. The clerk rang up the items and stared dully at the top of my head as I began counting out change. Slowly and deliberately, he blew a big, pink bubble.

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Melodist: **

**(Leonardo's POV)**

Sometimes I wasn't sure why I bothered. Trying to reason with Raph was like trying to reason with a brick wall. A brick wall that swore and cursed and liked to hit back when pushed. Honestly I'm not sure why I covered for him last night. Master Splinter must have seen right through my carefully worded excuse, but he hadn't called me on it. Besides, it wasn't like I _lied_ exactly… I just withheld key information. And Raph was _supposed_ to have come home early this morning. Knowing him, though, he probably ended up passed out at Casey's again. If he was passed out at someone else's place, then I didn't want to know about it.

I glanced at the clock and groaned silently. It was almost a quarter after 4 in the afternoon, I really, _really_ didn't want to call him again to find out where he was. It would only aggravate him further, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with a pissed off Raph right now.

A brilliant idea formed in my head, and I wondered why I hadn't thought of it before. I didn't particularly want to talk to Raph, and he didn't want to talk to me… but I could probably get Don or Mikey to call him and find out where he was. And hopefully talk him into getting his shell home before Master Splinter decided to question us about his whereabouts.

Figuring Don would be busy in his lab, I decided to try Mikey first. He and Raph had always gotten along best anyway. As I walked through the lair, I tried not to notice how peaceful and quiet it was without my hot-headed brother around. No sooner had the thought run through my head, though, when a loud crash from my youngest brother's room disproved my theory. There was an unintelligible shout, what sounded like a whimper from behind his door and I cringed. What now?

"Uh… Mike?" I tapped lightly on his bedroom door and there was a sudden silence from the other side. After a few moments I finally heard a hushed whisper from the other side.

"Shhhh. If we're quiet he'll just go away."

I knocked again, louder. "I know you're in there, Mikey. What the shell are you doing?"

Another moment of silence, then, "Uhh…. Nothing. We're all fine. Everything's fine. Nothing to worry about… so you can just go now."

_I really don't want to know_, I thought to myself as I tried the handle to his door. Locked. "Why don't you open the door, then?"

"Um…" I could practically see the gears working in his head as he tried to come up with an excuse. This was going to be good. "Because…" There was a fake yawning sound followed by, "I was just going to take a nap, Leo. Come back later, 'kay?"

"I don't thi-" I was interrupted by a girlie squeal that made me ashamed to admit Mikey was my brother.

"Ack! No, Maggie! Don't lick me there!" There was another crash and a soft whimper and then Mikey's panicked voice. "I mean.. uh…"

"Open the door, Mikey! What the shell is going on?" I rattled the door, trying not to think of all the possible explanations for what was going on in there. Had my brother snuck a girl down here? No, certainly he wouldn't have done that. Raph, maybe, but not Mikey.

"Leo, really! Everything's ok! It's fine, jus-Hey! No, I said _don't lick me there!_ Don't make me tie you up again!" Mikey squealed again and I stepped back, ready to kick the door open.

"Open it up, Mikey, or I'll do it for you!" This was getting out of hand. I didn't know what Mikey was doing in there, but I was going to find out. All thoughts of Raphael and his absence had been pushed from my mind.

"No, Leo! Please, it's fine!" Another whimper, louder this time. "No, Maggie! The skirt looks cute on you, don't tear it off!"

Just as I was placing a well-aimed kick to the door of Mikey's room, Donatello stepped around the corner with an intensely inquisitive look on his face. "What the shell-" he managed to get out right before the door jam splintered and the door violently swung open. I stared into the room, with a look of what must have been pure shock on my face as I took in the scene. Mikey was sitting on the floor with his arms around his… companion… both of whom had an utter look of horror on their faces.

Donatello moved carefully down the hallway to look over my shoulder into the bedroom. He let out a low whistle and I could hear the amusement in his voice when he finally remarked on the setting in front of him.

"Where's a camera when you need one?"


	4. Cuatro

**Disclaimer:** We don't own the ninja turtles, just some harmless borrowing to write a little fan fiction.

**A/N: **_Thanks a bunch for all the lovely reviews. Considering how funny you guys seem to find this, maybe we ought to change the category to humor? LOL We're as excited about where this is going as you are, and truth to be told: Does _anyone_ know? Either way, hope you enjoy this chapter, as well. Don't forget to leave that review. Thank you. _

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_**Chapter 4 written by _Melodist _and _Isis-Lament_. Go read their stories. **

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**CUATRO **

**Melodist: **

**(Raphael's POV)  
**

"What the hell d'yah mean it's not enough?"

"S'not enough." The little stoner repeated to my frustration, shrugged his shoulders and blew another pink bubble with his gum. He picked up a magazine that featured both a car and a bikini-clad woman on the front cover that he'd only be able to afford in his dreams, and flipped through it. He must have been looking at the pictures, because I seriously doubted his ability to read.

"I can go out and find that kinda change on th' street!"

The kid shrugged again in a gesture that clearly said he didn't care. "Fifty-five more cents, buddy. Otherwise you don't get the curling iron."

Maybe it was the headache pounding through my skull… or maybe it was the kid's 'I-don't-give-a-piss' attitude… or maybe it was the fact that I'm just an angry person, but I really wanted to reach over and strangle the puny little clerk. It didn't help that he'd looked at me like I was some frickin' queer when he rang up the iron and the ribbon. Guess I couldn't blame him there though… I _felt_ like a frickin' queer buying that stuff. Mikey owed me big time, and he could be sure I'd collect on this particular debt.

I glared down at the ribbon and the curling iron. The way I saw it, I had a few options. One, I could go out on the street and look for fifty-five cents. …Screw that. There's a lot of things I'll do for Mikey, but gutter fishing for spare change was just going too far. Two, I could put the ribbon back and just buy the curling iron, but then Mikey would be disappointed… not that I _really_ cared. I was ashamed to admit though, I was morbidly curious to see just what the hell he was going to do a poodle and ribbon. Or the third option. Rough the clerk up a bit and steal the goods. Yah, I know it wasn't the most ethical option… but hell, when have I ever been accused of having ethics? But that option seemed pathetic, even to me. Even with the hangover from hell, it would hardly be a challenge. And I never stole nothing just for the sake of stealing; it was the risk of getting caught that I liked.

…But I didn't want to get caught because of a freakin' curling iron though. I'd never live it down. A vibration from my cell phone brought my decision making process to a halt and I grumbled a quick "waitaminute" to the clerk and dug the phone out. Another message.

(From  
Brainiac cell  
Saturday 4:15 pm  
12-3-05  
You've GOT to see this, Raph. Get home ASAP. Trust me, it's worth it. -Don)

Rolling my eyes, I shoved the phone back in my pocket. Maybe it would be best just to not go home at all. It sounded like some crazy shit was going down there, and I might just be better off taking the money back and crashing at Casey's again. I looked from the curling iron, to the ribbon, to the money still sitting on the counter, and tried to weigh the options again in my pounding head.

**Isis-Lament:  
**

The throbbing migraine was an entangling snare, and it asphyxiated my thoughts before they could properly formulate. My mind was helplessly incapacitated. I looked down briefly at my empty green hands, my skin flamboyantly green beneath the obnoxious fluorescent lightning. As if my empty hands would reveal the solution to my predicament. I speedily tucked my awkward three-fingered appendages back into my hoody's pockets, safely out of sight. My lethargic eyes drifted back to the half-hazard pile of change cluttering the counter, then onto the cheap curling iron and crinkled pink ribbon.

Unsurprisingly, the pathetic collection of objects also didn't hold any wise words of advice.

My pockets vibrated again. Yet another text message. Muttering colorfully under my breath, I hauled the cell out of my pocket in a violent gesture, and scowled at the new text message.

(From  
Brainiac cell  
Saturday 4:18 pm  
12-3-05  
PS grab a disposable camera, if you can. I'll pay ya back later, tnx. –Don)

My eyes widened with incredulous disbelief. What was I, my brother's personal courier service? I came dangerously close to smashing the cell phone, an urge accompanied by an intense longing to isolate myself from the world. Only a small thought in the back of my head kept me from yanking out the phone's battery and throwing it into a garbage can. That tiny thought was the fleeting hope that Casey would call tonight with the promise of more beer. Despite waking up this afternoon with a hangover that could even impress the infamously intoxicated Ozzy Osbourne, and I was already contemplating my next drinking session. In fact, I was really looking forward to it.

With those delectable thoughts serenading my mind, I snorted curtly at the annoying pimple-infested store clerk. I glared accusingly at the curling iron and pink ribbon. One of them had to go!

Before I made my decision, I heard an impatient voice clear it's throat behind me. I turned in amazement to greet whomever had managed to creep up on a ninja undetected. My breath caught at the sight before me.

It was _her_. The woman from the bar... the one Casey was so infatuated with... My jaw dropped. My eyes stares. My thoughts went blank. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't breath. I couldn't move.

She was beyond ravishing. She was perfect, too perfect, so perfect it should have been illegal. A goddess. Her honey-golden hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and fell wildly behind her back. A few wisps had escaped the confines of her red ribbon, and loosely framed her face. Her hair was untamed, like the look in her glimmering cobalt eyes. They were unapproachable, untouchable, standoffish... yet so mesmerizing, I couldn't bring myself to look away.

I don't know how long I stared. I do know that her eyes never bothered to meet mine. In fact, she seemed incredibly preoccupied. She glanced at her watch, frowned, then dug around in her small red handbag.

"Can I go ahead?" her melodious voice greeted my ears with silken caresses.

I promptly stepped aside, abandoning my beggarly lump of coins. She strolled past me quickly without even a glimpse in my direction. Probably for the best. No, with a mug like mine, it was _definitely_ for the best.

Gleaning black leather hugged the delicious curves of her body. High boots accented her long legs. Yet her most sexy adornment was the motorcycle helmet hanging casually from her left hand. She had _style_...

The exquisite moment passed suddenly. Finished with her purchase, she glided out of the store quickly, and I watched until her trailing ponytail disappeared behind the store's haggard door. I couldn't hear the sound of her motorcycle's engine when she took off. I stared curiously at the space she had briefly occupied, wondering what a woman like her was doing in a decaying dead-end store like this?

Sighing, I pushed the thought out of mind, then reluctantly re-addressed the dilemma that still demanded my attention. As I stepped back up to the counter, I noticed something that had failed to catch my eye previously. A row of yellow ribbons sat innocently on a small shelf between some candy and cheap plastic toys. They were much cheaper and smaller in size than the crumpled pink ribbon resting on the counter. It looked like they were waiting patiently for little girls to scoop them up and rescue them from their imprisonment on the shelf.

I victoriously snatched one and plopped it next to the curling iron. I took out a trickle of my aggression on the pink ribbon, as I flicked it dismissively until it fell onto the filthy floor.

The clerk systematically popped bubbles with his faded pink bubble gum, then deliberately poked a few quarters out of the coinage. I leaned heavily against the counter with hungover exhaustion, and watched his tortuously slow pace. Finally, the clerk's fingers bounced off the cash register exaggeratedly, and the machine's triumphant bells chimed my completed transaction. I grabbed the ribbon and curling iron with haste, ignoring the insignificant amount of surplus change.

I stomped out of the store without glancing over my shoulder, and despite the piercing pain in my head, I made a point to slam that pitiful door behind me.

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**(Raphael's POV) **

I knew something was horribly wrong as soon as I stepped into the lair.

A disastrous mess encapsulated my beloved home, one that could rival my most heated fights with Leo, or most vigorous wrestling matches with Mikey. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen the lair in such a decrepit state. And... was that water splattered all over the walls and floor?

I briskly pulled off my oversized hoody, and tossed it aside, along with my purchases. I shouted a quick "hello?", but was answered only by a faint echo. My mind began to reel as panic quickly strangled my spirit. My home had been violated, and my family...

A loud crash suddenly exploded through the lair, followed by a familiar voice screaming.

"Mikey!" I hollered as raw fear took over. I sprung forward into action. My trusted sai leaped eagerly into my hands, and I held them offensively. More crashing pursued Mikey's cry; I quickly pinned its origin, and I flew to my family's aid.

As I drew closer, I couldn't help but notice an increased amount of water blanketing the floor. Especially when my feet lost their grip and I slid forward. Completely loosing my balance, my legs flew from under me. I landed hard on my back, my shell making a grotesque smacking noise again the concrete floor, and my carapaced torso quivering from the jarring impact.

I gasped in surprise, having been completely taken unaware. Distantly I could hear the clinking of my sai as they were released from my grip. I lay stunned, physically debilitated, and unable to do anything but bravely await my fate.

I wasn't prepared for what happened next.

"Noooo!" Mikey screamed, and the bathroom door sprung open with incredible force. Out shot the blur of a white-shrouded figure. With my dazed vision, I couldn't even distinguish this person's profile. The figure jumped villainously upon my plastron with impressive prowess. The wind was knocked out of me, and my vision swam with crimson freckles. Beaten by a white-shrouded ninja, while I lay flat on my shell, with my limbs hanging humorously in the air. It was a stereotypical vision of an overturned and vulnerable turtle... such embarrassing circumstances.

Luck was on my side. The white figure spared my life, and leaped off my chest as quickly as it had landed.

I struggled to scramble off my back, but my breathless confusion assured that my fumbling movements were sluggish. Still, I was persistent! Sparing my life was a great mistake. I would make this enemy rue the day it had decided to attack _my_ family!

A piercing bark filled the air, causing me to trip as I scampered to my feet. Reality was suddenly rushing in, and clarity was making its untimely entrance. Didn't Mikey say something about a poodle?

Boy, did I feel stupid. There was no attacker, only a dog gone rampant. The great ninja Raphael, made a fool by a poodle! Was it normal to become this stupid with a hangover?

Thankfully no one saw my run-in with the poodle, otherwise I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

"Come back, Maggie!" I heard Mikey's exasperated plea seconds before I saw his silhouette lunged through the bathroom doorway. He was healthy, uninjured, and debatably safe from harm, though dripping wet and blanketed in soapsuds.

It was a relief to see Mikey alive and well. It meant I would get to kill him myself once we captured and secured his heathen poodle.

Mikey's eyes were wide with concern, but as soon as he spotted me, his face sparkled and broke out into a smile. He opened his lips as if to greet me, but movement in the corner of his vision stole his attention. Forgetting my presence, and his face was overtaken with unaccountable horror. "No, Maggie!" he shouted in a terror-stricken tone. "_Not_ the big screen TV! _Anything_ but the big screen TV!" And with those words, he was gone, leaving me to glare at open space. I could honestly say that I had never seen my brother move so fast.

Donatello was next to dart out the door, and his comical appearance snapped me out of my shock. He was dressed in a blazing yellow raincoat, and matching heavy-duty boots. I didn't even know he had rain gear, nor did I try to understand why a turtle _required _rain gear. He wore rubber store-bought gloves, which stretched awkwardly across his stubby hand, while the unused finger slots flapped humorously as he walked. His mouth was covered with a dust mask, and for some reason I couldn't fathom, he wore a shower cap over his bald head. The imagery was priceless, and I was starting to regret not buying a disposable camera at that cursed convenience store...

Donatello's eyes were wild, but not in anger. His entire stance was peculiar; his back was rigid, his shoulders tensely raised, his eyes frazzled, and his movements stiffly lacked his ninja fluidity. Donatello's gaze met mine, and he answered my scrutinizing look with one word: "Fleas."

I immediately tensed.

My skin inflamed with irritation, as my hands started to scratch the imaginary itches all over my body. If there was one thing I couldn't stand, it was bugs. Not that I was afraid of bugs...

I looked down, and I saw a flea on my belt! I let out a startled yelp and nearly jumped out of my skin. I frantically swatted the pestering invader with my hands, nearly scratching myself with my weapons. The black speck was flung off of me, and slowly floated to the ground. Wait, floated? I guess it wasn't a flea after all, but just a speck of lint...

Nope, I'm not afraid of bugs _at all_.

By the time I had recovered my grasp on reality, Donatello was long gone. I looked up to stare into Leonardo's face. Dismissing my former antsy demeanor, I put on my toughest expression. I glared challengingly at Leo, while I braced myself for a lecture. Everything about Leo's exterior told me that he was irate. His teeth were clamped shut and his lips pressed forcibly together, while his jaw locked and unlocked subconsciously in frustration. The veins on his temple were pulsating, and his eyebrow occasionally twitched. The only part of Leonardo that did not seem mad, were his eyes. In fact, he seemed almost pleased to see me. "Hey Raph," he said quickly in a voice that was far too exhausted for someone so young. "Help out, will ya?" The sentence was a question, but the way he said made it inarguable an order.

He didn't wait for an answer, but trudged past me, heading straight for the yapping of an excited dog. His movements were urged on by the shouts of our two brothers, along with the sounds of fragile items crashing to their doom.

I was definitely not feeling myself today, and this hangover was causing me to act rather strangely. Not only did I nod and accept Leo's bossy demeanor without a hint of my infamous attitude, I was even feeling sorry for him. He looked so fed up and resigned, yet at the same time infuriated. Considering what Mikey and I had been putting him through, I couldn't blame him...

What was wrong with me today? Maybe it was time to lay off the sauce... I shrugged off my alien feelings, and jogged after my brothers. It was time to go hunting.


	5. Cinco

**Disclaimer: **We don't own the ninja turtles, just some harmless borrowing to do a little fan fiction.

**A/N:** _Sorry for the ridicilous delay. Not sure what happened with this thing, or how long it may have traveled. Will have to do some digging and find that out. Hopefully, it's still alive and kicking somewhere. ANYWAY, thank you so much everyone for your wonderful reviews. Took your advice and changed the genre to Action/Adventure/Humor, (which you'll find more of in this chapter). On another note, this fic was voted _First Place_ for _Best Casey Scene_ in the _2005 TMNT Fan Fiction Competition_, and we all wanna thank everyone and anyone who had a part in voting and/or nominating. So, so happy! So, we hope you'll enjoy this following chapter, and please don't forget to review. Thanks!_

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_**Chapter 5 written by _Isis-Lament_. Go read her stories. **

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**CINCO **

**Isis-Lament: **

**(Raphael's POV) **

It took took over _four hours_. Four meandrous hours of shampooing and chasing a flea-infested _monster, _who's slippery wet coat easily eluded our grasp. Four immensely gruesome hours of treating that canine calamity's squirming body with flea treatment. Four detestable hours of plucking fleas off each other with tiny tweezers that kept getting lost them in our oversized hands. Four insane hours of tying the four-legged heathen up and tediously fumigating the entire lair with dozens of cans of Raid.

Four hours of my life that I could never gain back.

By the end of the evening, we had to leave the lair to soak in it's pesticides. We ventured topside, and even managed to drag that beast to a rooftop. Splinter had already left the lair before I had arrived, due to the apparent disgust of finding Mikey's new flea-trap of a pet. My brother kept insisting that his furred cretin was cute and intelligent. Donnie admitted that she looked deceptively cute dressed in a tutu and ribbons, while wearing a ninja bandanna over her eyes... A picturesque moment no doubt, but I was hardly in any rush to see it. I didn't even want to know how Mikey _got_ a poodle. Considering what I had just gone through, I didn't even want to go back to the lair for at _least_ a week.

Casey didn't know it yet, but I was crashing at his place tonight, and tomorrow night, and the next night...

Everyone was extremely peeved, except Mikey of course, and we were all lost in our own heads, brooding in our own thoughts. I knelt down beside my brothers, and breathed in the striking silhouette of Manhattan Island. The dancing lights of the city reflecting in the black harbor, and it looked magical. Even Mikey's canine monstrosity fell silent, taken by the serenity of the moment.

Finally, Mikey broke the silence. "Someday, Maggie," he said dramatically, while gesturing with his hands at the city below, "all of this will be yours."

I groaned, and decided it was long past due to take my leave. I didn't say goodbye, but I hardly ever did these days. I merely stood up, turned my back on my bros, and ran to the ledge of the building. I pushed off the cement rooftop with a mighty leap. My feet landed hard on the neighboring building, but my bent knees absorbed the impact soundlessly. I knew the city rooftops well. I could navigate them blind-folded. I followed the path of buildings that would take me directly to Casey's apartment. Allowing my body to take control, I let my methodical movements lure my mind into oblivion, a peace that I could only achieve through physical exertion. This was my form of meditation. Able to turn off my thoughts, there was nothing else that existed in the world, not even time itself. There was only my fleeting journey across the peaks of the city.

Here I successfully escaped life, if only for a short while.

I regained my sense of self when I reached Casey's building. I slowed down to a stop, and let myself catch my breath.

After a short while, I started to climb down the fire escape toward Casey's windows. The thought that Casey might not be alone hadn't even crossed my mind, foolishly enough considering how important it was to conceal myself from human sight. I was too busy thinking about Mikey's new dog, and the stirring anger it caused was a great distraction.

I was already breaking into Casey's apartment, my hands wedging his window upward, when I heard loud maniacal laughter. It wasn't wild and carefree like the rumbling of Casey's voice. No, it was sinister, higher in pitch, and it grazed against my ears with hard bitterness. My head shot up, my reflexes acute, as my body launched into a predatory awareness. My ninja physique was reasserting itself over my carelessness; better late than never.

My eyes took everything in at once, both my forward and peripheral vision absorbed the sight before me. Three men dressed in black. Faces hidden behind ski masks. Two carrying submachine guns. One pressing a silenced automatic pistol against Casey's head.

The man with the pistol was laughing. The leader of the gang. He was flanked by the other two, standing a half a pace behind him.

Casey's hands were up by his head, not even half a foot away from the pistol drilling into his temple. Not a coincidence.

The lights in the apartment were turned down low, casting strange shadows onto the sea of a mess that blanketed Casey's floor and furniture.

Casey was still brandishing his boxers, decorated with the animated depictions of Scooby Doo and his gang. Go figure.

It would be an awkward battle, but I've always been up to a challenge.

Without a second thought, I grabbed the top of the window sill. I swung my feet forward and let them collide into the wooden frame, splintering the wood, and sending the glass flying into the apartment. The window was caught by a pile of Casey's dirty laundry littering the floor, and didn't break.

Seeing the end of a pistol pressed onto Casey's head was sending me into a rage that overpowered the ability to attain rational thought. I didn't have a plan, or strategy, and I surely wasn't making a stealthy ninja entrance. All I could think was _I'm gonna kick some ass!_

I swung myself into the apartment, landing comfortably on more dirty laundry. With a practiced shrug my trench coat slipped off my arms and shoulders, and gracefully sloped to the ground.

I rushed toward Casey's attackers, growling and panting with a vicious snarl on my face.

My awareness detachably felt the light of the apartment wash over my leathery green body.

I saw the three men stumble backward in abhorrent fright. I was a reptilian monster invading their delicately-formed schema of the world. I was turning their universe upside down, and using that to my advantage.

Hey, maybe I had a strategy after all.

I growled loudly for effect, and even Casey looked nervous. Then again, he was the focus of three guns, and that would unnerve anyone.

I whipped out my sai from my belt in a flash of movement too fast for the eye to follow. A surge of adrenaline heightened my senses and electrified my muscles, as I realized what I was dealing with. Guns. Automatic weapons. Bullets.

Damn, I hated guns.

I hadn't gotten very far when the wreckage on the floor got the better of me. I don't know what it was, a gold ball maybe, or a bat? Whatever it was, it rolled when I stepped on it. For the third time that day, my ninja dexterity failed me, and I lost my footing. My foot slipped, I tripped, and I even stubbed a toe, but at least this time I didn't fall to the ground. I felt the steam from my anger-fueled charge dissipate. Quite a few choice of words accompanied my attempts to reattain my balance.

The leader of the group was the first to recover his nerve. I could hear him shout orders to the others as his pistol panned away from Casey's head. Big mistake, pal. Maybe these guys weren't as professional as they seemed?

Casey's hands shot behind his head, taking the leader unprepared. He grabbed his captor's arms, keeping the pistol directed at the apartment's incredibly bare wall. With a mighty heave Casey doubled over and flung the man over his shoulders. The black-clad attacker clamored nosily onto the wall and cluttered floor. I heard something break, and I couldn't tell if it was the man's bones, or a random item among the mayhem that was this bachelor apartment. The man didn't move, nor did he utter a sound, not even a groan. He stayed down, and I figured he was staying that way for a while.

Casey seemed rather confident that he had taken the leader out of the picture, for he turned away from the apparently unconscious man. With a shock, I saw that he was now holding the automatic pistol. He strove to aim at the two standing men at the same time. The gun darted uncomfortably between the two of them, looking quite minuscule in comparison to the large submachine guns. The way it trembled in Casey's hands made it seem even more inadequate. If the concept that Casey was holding a gun hadn't frighten me beyond belief, I would have almost found the scene comical. You know, despite the whole imminent death and destruction aspect...

I would rather fight three men armed to the teeth, than give Casey a _gun_. Casey, the master of clumsy havoc, holding a gun. It was terrifying.

The two remaining men were recovering from the shock of seeing a monster, or perhaps they were trying to deny my existence. Either way, they were quickly regaining confidence as they watched Casey fumble with his pistol. One seemed to cock his head to the side in amusement, while the other drilled his fingers against his submachine gun lazily. They both reeked of confidence, and they seemed to appreciate the hilarity in the situation that I could barely grasp. They obviously didn't know Casey at _all_.

I had to quickly dispose of the threat before we were all killed. Whether that meant taking out the gun-wielding Casey, or the other two men, I wasn't sure. I just knew that I had to act fast!

The two home invaders strengthened their holds on their guns, their index fingers flickering toward the triggers. I charged forward again, raising both sai slightly. My eyes calculated my attack, and my experienced muscles remained strong and prepared, but not tense.

The surplus of adrenaline pumping through my veins was intoxicating, and I felt invincible. I ran toward them on feet that could almost fly. My heightened senses drew in everything, and as I moved faster, my enemies seemed to become more sluggish. They couldn't move fast enough, couldn't aim quick enough, couldn't pull their triggers quite in time.

The man on the left started to turn toward me in a vain effort to subdue my onslaught. His gun had barely begun raising to meet my head, when my left wrist flicked forward and unleashed it's weapon. My sai sailed through the air with grim silvery beauty, narrowly missing Casey's left ear. It completed its grand finale by scrapping coarsely again the man's right shoulder. With a gasp, the man dropped his gun, startled by hazing pain induced from the merciless weapon. Casey was also surprised, and jumped in his spot, releasing his fingers of his pistol's trigger.

I didn't slow my stride for a moment, as I faced the remaining threat. I lunged sideways toward my buddy, knocking him hard off his feet. From my peripheral vision I could see him tumble, and his pistol slipped from his hand.

The last man standing was the center of my attention, as I was now staring at the point of his automatic weapon. I hadn't realized how intimidatingly large his gun really was.

Meanwhile, the opponent was having similar doubts about me, a mutant turtle monster that had materialized in Casey's apartment. He hesitated, his index fingers trembling away from his gun's trigger. The moment hung heavy in the air, pressing upon my demanding weight, and coaxing me into action. I squatted onto the floor, hugging the cluttered ground with my arms, grateful to escape my adversary's aim.

Without a hint of the faltering delay that was being displayed by my opponent, I shifted my weight onto my left arm. My legs swung powerfully in a sidesweeping action, colliding into countless unknown items littering the floor, before finally crashing into my enemy's knees. I watched his legs buckle, and he grunted as if his body deflated.

Posed to strike, I anxiously kept my eye on the point of his machine gun. It swerved perilously in the air as he fell. When the barrel of the submachine gun was aimed at the ceiling, I leaped forward propelled with intoxicated gusto. My knees landed hard against the man's chest. _Too_ hard. He wheezed, struggled with a panicked gasp, then went limp.

I knelt over the unconscious man overbearingly, and tore the submachine gun from his clammy grasp. I fumbled with the icy steel awkwardly, its presence incredibly cumbersome in my nervous hands. I had never before been more aware of my irresponsibility... but eventually the magazine slipped off and fell harmlessly, disappearing into a crinkling bag that held nacho crumbs. I released a breath that I wasn't even aware I had been holding.

Movement flickered in my vision. I turned swiftly with my remaining sai held defensively in front of me, chastising myself for turning my back on my enemy. I relaxed when I saw Casey wrestling with the masked man whose shoulder I had grazed earlier. They rolled on the floor, their arms locked and strained, neither making any headway. I heard the sound of cardboard being flattened and plastic cracking, until Casey realized he needed a different approach. When he was again on top, he threw his weight upward and sat up straight, taking the wounded man off-balance. Released from his opponents grip, Casey brought both fists abruptly down onto the man's head. I cringed at the sick thud his blow made against the man's skull. With a violent spasm, the man stopped moving.

It was a miracle that none of the guns fired throughout the whole ordeal, a risk mimicked by the pounding of adrenaline searing in my temples and tearing through my chest. Was that my blood pounding in my head and resounding in my ears, or the sound of my heart echoing through my body? I felt lightheaded.

Casey threw his fists victoriously into the air and looked my way. Yet the sight of his mostly naked body straddling another man was too funny, and instead of sharing in his glory, I tried to bite back my laughter. I failed horribly. Casey's face suddenly reflected sheer horror, then turned several shades of red. He leaped off his unconscious opponent, then shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. He shook his shoulders and tried to regain his macho dignity, a task impossible to achieve for a half-naked full-grown man sporting Scooby-Doo boxers.

Still chuckling, I focused back on the dormant threats laying at our feet. I grabbed the last two guns before Casey had a chance, and disabled them while Casey checked on his unconscious attackers. We remained silent while I removed ammunition from weapons so alien to me, and Casey struggled to find rope in the disaster he called home.

I couldn't look at my buddy without the urge to make fun of him for his near-naked near-death experience. Still I was very eager to hear his story. Unfortunately, Casey didn't seem to know where to start, and every time he moved his lips as if to talk, a strange expression came over his face, and with a barely audible stutter, he gave up and closed his mouth. Was that awe glimmering in his eyes? In awe of _what_? Definitely not _these_ guys...

The curiosity and anticipation was killing me!

Finally I could no longer resist. "Saved by Scooby-Doo an' the gang..."

At the same time Casey blurted out, "You'll never believe..."

We both froze, startled at each other's outburst... then erupted out into much-needed laughter, breaking our crippling tension.

As our laughter eased, and I waited for Casey to enlighten me with his no-doubt interesting tale, something unusual caught my attention. It was a distinct beeping sound that was both chillingly familiar, yet I couldn't place it in my mind. I tried to concentrate on its source, but wasn't sure how I would find _anything_ in this mess! From the alarmed look on on Casey's face, he seemed to hear it as well.

It couldn't be... could it?

We dropped everything and proceeded to both tear the place apart, quickly but prudently, the urgency that we had discarded but moments ago returning in full-force.

I saw things I never wanted to see again, and touched things that no man, or turtle, should ever have to touch. This mess gave new meaning to biohazard! If the situation wasn't so desperate, I would have gagged as I encountered things I dared not mention. Despite our search efforts and sanitary sacrifices, we couldn't find the source of the rhythmic beeping.

Finally, I grabbed my trench coat to search underneath, and my cell phone slipped out from my pocket. The attention-deprived phone was blinking animately, bragging about an unread text message. Aha! I had found the culprit. False alarm. I swear, this cellphone was testing my sanity... I rapidly flipped it open, and almost laughed aloud at what I read.

Turning quickly to Casey, I chortled my amusement and began to convey my discovery, "Case', I just..." I trailed off quickly when I saw the apprehensive look on my friend's face.

That's when I noticed that the beeping hadn't ceased, and that the leader of the masked threesome was _missing_...


	6. Seis

**Disclaimer: **We don't own the ninja turtles, just some harmless borrowing to do a little fan fiction.

**A/N:** _Another ridiculous delay, and for that I apologize._

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_**Chapter 5 written by _pacphys_. Go read her stories.****

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**Seis****  
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**pacphys:  
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**(Leonardo's POV)**

New York spread before us, spilling into the ocean with the water beyond stretching to the far horizon. The surprisingly clear evening was a welcome change from the cramped, Raid infused lair we'd spent the day in. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the fresh air... well, as fresh as Manhattan air gets at any rate. Still, for a brief moment, Mikey and his crazed pooch didn't exist, and Raph wasn't testing my nerves for a change. Actually, he had been rather well behaved today... after he'd finally gotten home. It was Mikey who had well and truly tried everyone's patience, not just mine and Raph's. Master Splinter had walked out almost upon learning of Maggie's existence. Something that, had I realized it was an option, I would have probably joined him in. Even Don's patience had been pushed in the attempt to clean up Satan's poodle. Don't tell Mikey I called her that though.

Raphael walked away without a word. He rarely told us where he was going, but I had no doubt that he was headed back to Casey's. To be perfectly honest about it, after today, I'm not sure I would have said no to a strong drink. I sighed as he walked away from us. Don and Mikey either didn't notice or didn't think much of Raph leaving again. His going off like this bothered me more than I would ever say, but I pushed it out of my mind for the time being.

I knew that I would be searching relentlessly for lost dog signs that could be referring to Maggie over the next few days. If we couldn't find this thing's home, I had a feeling that it would find itself adopted into ours, and I didn't want that at all. Maggie was still wearing the tutu, yellow ribbons and matching ninja mask. Personally, I couldn't figure out why the monster had not yet managed to worm its way out of them.

We had been sitting on that rooftop for some time after Raphael left when Donatello did something that scared me more than anything in recent history. He did something that made being surrounded by the Foot Elite, Mystics, Hun, Shredder, the Purple Dragons and any other foes who might be on the prowl seem like a day at the beach by comparison. Maggie had escaped Michelangelo's grasp and had pranced her way over to our purple masked brother, and Don hadn't chased her off. In fact, he reached out and pet her on the head. Maggie took that as an invitation and moved closer to him, apparently having had enough of Mikey for a while. What truly frightened me was that Don didn't object, he just let her stay! I was frankly as terrified as I had ever been. I could just see it becoming progressively more difficult to get rid of flea-bag. I pulled my shell cell from my belt.

**(Raphael's POV)**

From: SwordBoy cell  
Saturday 10:15 pm  
12-3-05  
Think I can come with you and Casey 2nite? Don's playing with the dog! O.O -Leo

No way that was ever going to happen. I went out with Casey in big part to get away from ol' Fearless. There was just no way he was coming along. He would just put a major damper on the evening. In fact, I wasn't sure I wanted to dignify his request with a response, though I could understand if he felt a need to get very, very drunk at the moment. Getting the dog out when Mikey liked it while the rest of us stood as a united front would be difficult enough, but if Don was going over to the dark side and playing with the dog then it would just made things that much harder.

All the same, we had bigger fish to fry at the moment. We still had to deal with the missing leader of the trio that had attacked Casey... and that infernal beeping, what was that noise anyway?

"Hey, Case, wasn't there another of of these bozos?" I asked as I reinstated my search for the beeping.

"Uh... Yeah, yeah there were. Where'd he go?" Casey was also looking for the source of the noise. "Uh, Raph?"

I moved to see what Casey was looking at. A red '00:00:30' was illuminated on the box emitting the noise.

"What do ya suppose it does?" Casey asked as the '30' switched to a '29' then a '28'.

"I dunno, but I don't wanna be here when the time comes to find out." I was mentally counting down as I raced for the exit. I could feel Casey close behind me. Now, maybe if Donnie was here he could have turned the thing off, but he wasn't here so run it was. I leapt through the window and bounded to the rooftop and across to the next one. Casey managed to stay hot on my heels the whole way. Amazing what 'run for your life' instincts can do for that man.

I continued counting down until I got to zero, at that moment we were on the next rooftop and behind a concrete barrier... nothing happened. I began counting up. _1... 2... 3..._

"Maybe it wasn't a bomb." Casey suggested, and I had to admit that I was almost inclined to agree.

_8... 9... 10..._ "I still ain't gonna go back in there just yet." _13... 14... 15_

Still mildly worried about his home, and the fact that he still didn't have on nearly enough clothing to be considered 'decent' by New York City human standards, Casey finally brought conversation back to what had to be done.

"Hotshot got away." I said shortly. "What happened back there?"

Casey filled me on the part of the attack that I had missed, and it seemed that I would be calling Leo back after all. I wasn't gonna invite him for a night on the town; not that I really believed it was what he wanted anyway. A good mystery, like that of Casey's little attack here would be much more his style. This wasn't exactly something that could be explained using a text message, but I didn't want to try to explain on the phone either. I sent another text message.

Got a problem here, can you all meet me at April's? And leave the dog at home. -Raph

When I looked back toward Casey, I couldn't help but notice that Scooby had begun 'shaking in fear'. I might be used to running around New York City at night in naught but a belt and pads, but Casey sure wasn't used to running around the city in his skivvies.

"Raph, come on, if it hasn't blown up yet, it probably ain't gonna."

"You wanna take that chance? Come on."

"Where're we goin'?" Casey asked as he self-consciously followed me along the roofs.

"April's, to meet the guys."

"APRIL'S?" Casey shouted in horror.

I couldn't help but chuckle at Casey's discomfort, though having the ol' boy show up at April's in his undies would probably be a bit uncomfortable for both of them. "I'll go in first and getcha a towel or whateva." I offered. Casey grumbled something at me that I didn't quite make out, and it was probably better that way.

**(Michelangelo's POV)**

How Raphael could possibly disapprove of Maggie's presence at April's apartment, I will never know! She's such a good baby. If I didn't know better, I'd say that Leo was rather relieved as well, and even Donnie seemed pleased to have her gone. How anyone could not immediately fall in love with that adorable face is quite beyond me, but all the same, Maggie was at home, locked in my room, the poor dear. But c'est la vie, looked like it was business time with what Raph was telling us. Something about baddies and bars and bombs... or not.

"A not-bomb?" I asked as they got to the end of the story. "And why is Casey wearing nothing but a towel? And why pink?"

Now, I hadn't really expected a response to this, but I tell you what, Casey Jones can BLUSH! In fact, his face was suddenly brighter than his towel!

"What's the matter, Casey?" Don asked, noticing the look on the man's face. "You wouldn't have anything embarrassing on under that towel, would you?"

When Casey blushed even harder, if that was possible, I decided that my life's mission would be to find out what was under that towel, sooner or later. Quite possibly I was focused on my plans for this for a little too long as the next thing I knew, one of my brothers was calling my name. It was Donnie, from the window. Time to move. I rather got the impression that someone, probably multiple someones, had been saying something that I probably should have been listening to, but it was too late now. Don't get me wrong, the not-bomb thingie in Casey's home was a big deal and all. I was more than willing to help out when the time came, but at the moment I had more important things to worry about... like finding out what was under that towel!

I hurried to the window and followed Donnie out onto the fire escape.

**(Donatello's POV)**

Now, I had seen people blush in the past, April has a very cute blush, but I didn't know humans could turn that many colors until I saw Casey blush that second time.

"Maybe it was just a dud?" Leo asked, referring to the 'not-bomb'. That was one explanation, unfortunately several others also came to mind. I pulled myself back to the conversation around me as Leo brought us back to the business at hand. That's our Leo, always on task and trying to keep us there too.

"That's possible." I agreed. "Or, perhaps it was never meant to explode." And this is where my entire family turns, most of them looking at me as though I have grown a second head. I could almost hear the unspoken 'it's a bomb, of course it was meant to explode'. It takes all I have to suppress the sigh I can feel building in my chest.

"There are any number of things that timer could have been counting down to." I explained, hoping to dissuade them of the idea that all bombs must blow things into a fiery oblivion. "An explosion is very messy and in a populated building like Casey lives in, it would really stand out."

"Not that the guns didn't." Raphael added. Well, ok, maybe he does have a point.

All the same, I did sigh this time. I just couldn't help it. There was a difference between eliminating a target with a bunch of bullets and taking out an entire building for one guy. Why didn't Raphael understand that?

"But it would make more sense to leave the building intact." Leo put in. "A random shooting in New York City isn't going to garner the attention that a bombed building would."

"Exactly," I agreed, "so it probably was a bomb, just not an explosive, maybe some sort of gas. Perhaps something inconspicuous like carbon monoxide. All they'd have to do is return later and remove the device. It would look like there had just been a gas leak."

"Which means they'll probably be back." Leo finished for me.

I couldn't help but point out that it was only one possibility and that the gas may be something far less common to normal households. It could be cyanide, sulfur dioxide (Wouldn't that be fun? Suffocate on the smell of rotten eggs before it has the chance to actually poison you) or any other sort of lethal gas. Just about anything odorless, colorless, tasteless and, of course, poisonous would do, and it fell to me to figure out what might have been in that gas bomb, or if it had just been a dud, or if it was something else entirely. I wasn't completely sure I could detect some of the weirder potential poisons, but the most likely culprits were definitely detectable. I voiced this and my reservations to the plan, but Leo and everyone else took them in stride. I know they trust me when it comes to this sort of thing, but sometimes I can't help but wonder if they just don't understand just how potentially dangerous some of what I suggest and point out really is. This time though... I'm pretty sure they understand. The kind of guns that Casey and Raph described were some serious hardware, and it would stand to reason that a bomb from the same group would be equally deadly.

"Alright then." Leo said in his rally the troops tone. "Let's go." He climbed out the window with Raph and Casey right behind him.

Mikey hadn't moved and seemed lost in thought as I made my way through the window. I hesitated half way through and called back to him. Anytime Mikey is lost in thought, something is going to happen to someone, and this time I had a hunch that it was Casey who would find himself at my crazy brother's mercy. Another hunch said that Mikey REALLY wanted to know what was under that towel. We should probably find Casey some clothes somewhere before we go too far.

"Hey, Mikey! Are you coming or not?

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**Alright, I'm done! Time for the next victim to take the Reins! (Sorry, I couldn't resist!)**


End file.
